


i got a heavy heart (too much for you to hold)

by AllTheNamesIWantedWereUsed



Series: Ghost!Strand [2]
Category: The Black Tapes Podcast
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Feels, Death, F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Haunting, Heavy Angst, Implied Relationships, Past Relationship(s), Self-Harm, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, ghost!Strand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-09 20:03:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11111850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllTheNamesIWantedWereUsed/pseuds/AllTheNamesIWantedWereUsed
Summary: Dr. Richard Strand is dead, but not gone. Unfortunately, Alex doesn't know that.





	1. i know you're trying but there's nothing you can say

**Author's Note:**

> Titles come from Gabrielle Aplin's "Heavy Heart."

Richard Strand has never believed in religion. He thinks it’s all a monetary hoax created to keep potentially rebellious people in line, a weak moral compass for the easily influenced.

 

He believed once, when he was a child and easily swayed, brought to church by his mother along with his sister. Despite all the science his father had taught him to trust, the idea of a powerful being actually creating the entire universe seemed so _fascinating._

 

Less fascinating, perhaps, when his father shook the entire house as he roared at Richard’s mother for taking his children to _a church, of all places_ , and teaching them a fantasy, and at his son for daring to believe. When his mother died, Richard was sure that if such a God existed, he never would allow such a devoted supporter of his to die this way, in a loveless marriage, with her son at her side as she breathed her last.

 

So no, of course he doesn’t believe in an afterlife. When he dies in an alley in Olympia, bleeding out from a knife wound, he expects the world to end in a black void.

 

Imagine his shock when he wakes in Alex Reagan’s Seattle apartment. The carpet she has in her living room, the really irritatingly scratchy one he’s constantly offered to replace, is probably leaving tiny pinpricks on his cheek. He wobbles to his feet, and to his shock, blood still soaks his shirt, and he can fit two of his fingers inside the wound in his ribcage.

 

Utterly confused, he glances around at his surroundings.  It’s not hard to recognize Alex’s faded couch, or the watch he gave her lying on the chipped coffee table, or the clock hanging on the wall that reads 1:34 A.M. They all have a permanent place in his memory, much like their owner.

 

The green broken glass scattered all over the floor, coupled with a dark puddle, however, is unsettling and out of place. He tries to pick up a few pieces, but his fingers pass right through them. Thinking that his coordination must be off due to the blood loss, he tries again, with a similar failure.

 

A creak breaks his train of thought, and he looks up to see Alex shuffling out of her room, the gray tabby cat they rescued from an alley over two years ago on her heels. Ghost is his name, if Strand remembers. He's pretty sure that's it because he specifically remembers Alex naming the cat something like that to tease him.

 

“Alex?” he says, rising to his feet and striding towards her. He ends up standing in her path, and realizes that something’s wrong. Her eyes are bloodshot, there are tear stains on her cheeks, and she looks more tired than ever.

 

“Alex? What’s wr-”

 

She walks right through him, as if he's nothing more than air. Reeling, he stumbles, and doesn't notice her shiver.

 

She crumples on the couch, dragging her hands over her face in exhaustion. “Jesus Christ,” she mutters to herself. “What the hell did I do?”

 

Silence answers her, at least, that's what she thinks.

 

“Alex, what are you talking about?” Richard demands.

 

She picks up the watch from the table, turning it over in her hands. She stares for a while at the inscription on the back of it. With a sigh, she leans her head back on the couch and closes her eyes.

 

He comes over, standing in front of her. “Alex,” he says again, her name turning into a plea. “Come on, answer me, damn it.”

 

“Alexandra?” Another door has opened, and Amalia Chenkova comes out now. She glances wearily at the smashed glass and puddle as she walks past it, sighing about wasting good wine.

 

“Please go home, Amalia.”

 

“And leave you here in this state? I think not.” Amalia sits down on the couch next to Alex. Ghost hops up next to them.

 

“Just because Nic thinks I need babying and sent you over here-”

 

“Dr. Strand is dead,” Amalia says, and Alex flinches at the words, “-and you are not handling it well, which is entirely understandable. This isn't a matter of maturity, Alexandra, it's  about support.”

 

“I don't _want_ support,” Alex says through clenched teeth.

 

Richard doesn't really hear what Amalia says after that. He _can't_ be dead, he's standing in Alex's apartment. He just needs medical attention, if someone would listen to him. He's not questioning why the wound has stopped its agonizing throbbing, just assumes he's in some sort of partial shock.

 

Amalia seems to give up. “I'm going to clean up that wine,” she says, starting to rise, but Alex stops her.

 

“No, I'll do it-  I dropped it.”

 

“How about we both do it?” Amalia compromises. Reluctantly Alex agrees.

 

Richard  would be more focused on them handling broken glass if Ghost had kept from padding over to him.

 

“Seems I'm not completely invisible,” he mutters, attempting to stroke the cat’s ears, and failing. Ghost meows as if in agreement.

* * *

 

In the morning, Amalia finally leaves, and Alex's apartment floor is spotless.

 

Amalia’s barely gone ten minutes when Alex’s cell phone rings next to her on the couch. She ignores it, but after the third time of it ringing and ringing until disconnecting, she gives up and answers it. Ghost weaves inbetween her feet planted on the floor, toying with a loose thread on her pajama pants.

 

“Hey, Nic.” She sounds subdued and weary, leaning down to pet Ghost.

 

“Alex, hey! You doing okay?” He can hear Nic’s voice all the way from where he’s standing. It’s falsely bright, and wavers slightly.

 

“I'm doing fantastic, Nic,” Alex says sarcastically. Nic drops the cheeriness and lets his tone drop with it.

 

“Alex, listen, I know it's hard-”

 

“Hard? Of course it's hard, Nic! Strand is dead, and you expect me to get over that in one night?”

 

“Of course not, I just-”

 

“I'm still alive, if that's what you're so worried about,” she snaps. “I'm not going to be a dumbass and pull a Juliet. Stop worrying about me.”

 

She hangs up with a huff. Ghost leaps up next to her with a sound that Richard can't quite identify.

 

“I shouldn't have been so pissy, huh?” she says to Ghost, scratching his ears. The tabby purrs in response, stretching himself over her lap.

 

“I’ll apologize later,” she mumbles.

 

She doesn’t though, just sits there for the rest of the day, making little attempt to move. She checks her texts a few times, but spends most of the day curled up on the couch, staring into space, only getting up to feed Ghost.

 

She looks as small and defeated as she did the day he left with Coralee.

 

It’s the first of  many days like this, and he’s there to watch it all.


	2. in the silence something's screaming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Heavy themes of alcoholism and depression

The passing months are agonizing. Richard feels like he’s trapped in a soundproof box, constantly shouting, trying to reach Alex, but completely unable to. So he devotes himself to finding a way to contact her.

 

In the meantime, he’s forced to be a spectator as she gets worse and worse.

 

She drinks far too much now, more wine (or something stronger) than water, and there are days when she doesn’t even eat, just stays in bed the whole time, even stops going to see Dr. Bernier. He has to listen to her scream herself awake each night. It’s impossible to find any routine; he just knows that sometime throughout the day and night, Alex will feed Ghost, drink quite a few glasses of wine, and stare at the ceiling while lying on the couch or in her bed.

 

With her horrible self-care coupled with the newfound arrival of depression, her already fragile mental health is tossed out the window. Nic or Amalia will come over, force her to eat something and drink water, but she only pushes them away.

 

One thing that does stay constant is the watch he gave her. She wears it with an astounding faithfulness. Every day she slips it on with such a routine precision that even in her sleep-deprived state, with her foggy mind and shaking hands, she can eventually put it on without looking at it.

 

He starts thinking that he’s tied to it, somehow, because when she wears it, wherever she goes, he goes too. It frustrates him that he doesn’t know for sure, because he can’t test any theories and he can’t put science to this to answer his questions.

 

He can’t touch her, not really; he knows this because he’s tried, time and time again, to brush her shoulder, to stand in front of her and watch her pass through, and the most he can get for a reaction is a shudder and for her to adjust her thermostat.

 

He can’t speak, not to the degree that she can hear him. He can shout as loud as he can all day, and she never responds.

 

He can’t make himself look like he’s there, forget about a corporeal form. Only Ghost seems to be able to see him.

 

He can’t really move things, either. He spends a few days trying to push things, and the best that happens is a slight wobble, at least until he manages to push a wineglass an inch away from Alex.

 

He understands now, why people write spirits as malevolent and bitter. Not that he thinks he is a spirit, but he can understand how irritating it would be to try and get people to see you and have them only walk right through you.

 

Maybe it’s a question of them watching loved ones react to their deaths, he thinks, eyeing Alex as she stares out the window into the Seattle horizon. He knows that seeing Alex like this and not being able to help is driving him up the _fucking wall_.

 

He remembers when she was the persistent, bright-eyed journalist with a quick wit and a willingness to believe. That all faded slowly at first, but since his death, she’s declined almost exponentially.

 

It’s when Charlie and Ruby start coming over that she picks up a little bit. She makes more of an effort to clean, tries to stock up on food she knows the other two will eat, but starts deflating when the three of them tackle the main topic of their visits: his funeral. She lets them use her apartment as a headquarters of sorts as they discuss where to hold it, how long the service will be, who to invite, and so on.

 

Alex seems to feel like she’s not wanted in the conversation, something Ruby and Charlie try very hard to combat: asking her opinion on things, letting her toss in a few suggestions, and Charlie even insists she pick the caterer for the funeral.

 

They're trying, he knows, and she knows it too. But one of the many things they have in common that they've also confessed to each other is the crippling deadweight in one's chest when trying to get up in the morning, the isolation one feels in a room full of people, and the all-encompassing gravitation to things they know they shouldn't go near but still do.

 

It gets worse after the funeral. Her interactions with Coralee and Charlie break him more than he’d ever admit, and he's helpless as Coralee throws a few crippling sentences like they're  daggers, as Charlie takes the weight of his life onto her shoulders, as Alex crumbles a little more.

 

Still, as Ruby and Charlie's company becomes more frequent, even with the funeral fully planned and done with, Alex manages to slowly start creating her facade that she's healing, that she's doing better. One would almost believe it if the glass bottles stopped piling up in her garbage, or at least slowed their rate.

 

It all shatters when Nic comes over on one of her particularly bad days, and a few snide remarks are exchanged until it escalates into a shouting match. It's ugly to see, really.

 

She screams about how he needs to stop tiptoeing around her and leave her alone while he shouts about her inability to take care of herself.

 

“Why are you doing this to yourself, Alex?” he demands. “You shouldn't be like this. Strand wouldn't want-”

 

“Don't,” Alex says through gritted teeth. “Don't you dare say that he wouldn't want me to be like this.”

 

Richard wishes he could tell her that Nic is really only speaking the truth.

 

The expression on Nic’s face can only be described as chaotic, a million different emotions swirling in his features like a hurricane. “Why, Alex?” he says. “Why are you doing this to yourself?”

 

The dam breaks.

 

“Because it's _my fault!”_ Alex screams. “ _I_ did this, Nic, I got him killed with the stupid podcast.” Her chest heaves as she continues, “I tried so hard to blame Coralee, to put it all on her, but I can't, Nic, because _I know I_ _did this_.”

 

Richard wishes she could hear him as both his and Nic’s protests mingle, but Alex can only hear one of them, and she's not listening.

 

“I brought hell on him, Nic. He was being stalked and hunted, and I laser-focused on him and I painted a fucking target on his back.” Her voice breaks as she gasps the words, “He came to Washington _for me_. I got him killed.”

 

 _Damn it, Coralee,_ Richard thinks. One sentence to Alex in her fragile state and what little healing she regained fell away.

 

Nic tries to talk, but Alex is done talking. “Get out,” she whispers. “Please.”

 

It takes quite awhile, but eventually, Nic gives up and leaves, but not before telling her that he's sending Amalia over tomorrow.

 

When the door closes, Alex sinks onto the couch as if all energy has leaked out of her.

 

“Please don't let this be real,” she whispers, praying to empty air. “Please just let it all be another nightmare, don't let him be dead.”

 

He's never seen her look so broken.

 

“Alex?” Richard sits down on the couch next to her. “Can you hear me?”

 

When she opens her eyes and leans forward this time; he thinks she's heard him, but instead she just buries her face in her hands.

 

Her shoulders start shaking, and a choked sound comes out of her, not the first, and certainly not the last. “I’m sorry, Richard,” she whispers, tears blurring her words, no longer addressing a nonexistent deity. “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.”

 

He knows she doesn't know he's there, but it sends a pang through to hear her voice these words aloud.

“Alex,” he murmurs helplessly, wanting to reach out, wanting to brush the tears from her face, wanting to ease her guilt.

 

Were he not already dead, this surely would have killed him. He never wanted to hurt her. He went off the grid to protect her, but it seems that all that's done is lead him to cause her even more pain.

  
And so, once again, he watches as she cries and suffers from his demons and his choices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment/kudos, please?


	3. I know it hurts to watch me bleeding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: self harm

_ It's been a long time since Richard Strand woke up in a bed that wasn't his; it's been even longer since he woke up with someone next to him.  _

 

_ When he blinks his eyes open, a light Seattle rain plinks gently against the window, a soft light filling up the room.  _

 

_ Alex sleeps next to him, breathing lightly and curled into his side. She looks far more relaxed than she has in ages, and he's really rather surprised her insomnia and nightmares let her sleep this peacefully.  _

 

_ He contemplates what to do next. Should he leave? Should he stay? _

 

_ He's never been one for one night stands, and it seems wrong to just up and go. Something between them has undoubtedly changed, though whether to acknowledge it or not...he's unsure.  _

 

_ While his thoughts drag on, his fingers card gently through her hair, running through the dark strands with a routine affection. He doesn't even realize he's doing it until his brain brings him back to reality.  _

 

_ He slowly edges out of Alex's bed, pulling on his pants and an undershirt. He leaves the flannel on the floor, because he remembers what it's like to wake up to an empty room showing no signs of the night before.  _

 

_ He remembers because that's what Coralee used to do for the longest time before they got married.  _

 

_ He heads for the door, thinking that while it does feel wrong to fully leave...if he's going to encroach on her hospitality, he might as well make himself useful.  _

 

_ Breakfast seems appropriate. _

* * *

 

_ He's nearly done when her bedroom door creaks open.  _

 

_ She comes out of her room, his flannel shirt wrapped around her. She looks rather surprised to see him.  _

 

_ “Good morning,” he greets her, before turning his attention back to pushing eggs around the frying pan, not wanting them to burn. _

 

_ “Morning,” she replies, sleep blurring the word. “I thought you'd left.” _

 

_ He turns to look at her. “Would you prefer it if I leave?” _

 

_ She shakes her head vehemently. “No! I mean- I don't know, I just thought you would. Leave, that is.”  _

 

_ “If you'll have me, Alex, I hope to stay. If not, I'll go.”  He has his back to her now, waiting for her answer.  _

 

_ “I don't want you to go, Richard,” she says quietly.  _

 

_ He can't help but smile to himself as he turns off the stove, wondering what he did to make her feel anything other than hate and irritation towards him. _

 

_ “In that case…” He turns back to her, with a plate of scrambled eggs and toast. “Breakfast?” _

* * *

 

_ Their morning meal together is quiet, but still has an odd feeling of intimacy and comfort.  _

 

_ Alex breaks the silence first. “So...this happened.”  _

 

_ “It did,” he agrees.  _

 

_ “Do-do you want this to happen more?”  she asks. _

 

_ He looks up at her, and perhaps he's deceiving himself, but she looks almost hopeful, but worried.  _

 

_ “If that's what you want, Alex, I would be  more than willing to make this a regular occurrence.”  _

 

_ The tension melts from her features, and she smiles at him. _

 

_ For the first time in a long time, he feels happy, sitting at Alex Reagan's table, eating breakfast.  _

 

_ For the first time in a long time, he's regained a sense of normalcy. _

* * *

 

She’d looked tired that morning, but at least she’d looked happy. 

 

Richard doesn't even see that anymore. He sees depression, paranoia and grief.

 

It's almost enough to make him wish he'd never returned those eleven calls. 

 

Especially not now. 

 

She sits next to Charlie in his father's house, the two of them trudging through countless boxes and cases. Ruby's gone out for a coffee run, something that the three of them were clearly in need of. They all have dark circles under their eyes now, and a perpetual slump in their shoulders. 

 

But they talk, too. It's like a support group: Support For Those Whose Lives Were Irreversibly Fucked Up By Richard Strand, as he's privately called it.

 

Ruby talks about how he employed her off the streets after her parents kicked her out, what it was like working for him, and some of the stories she tells can make even this melancholy group laugh. 

 

Charlie opens up about what little childhood she had. It hurts to hear her reflect on those times, and how she never realized the extent of her parents’ marital problems, she even talks about her biological mother, Irene, and how they reconnected after “the clusterfuck of my teenage years.”

 

Alex doesn't talk as much. She listens, holds the tissue box(and uses it frequently), and pours drinks. Richard knows that she's silently absorbing all this information, piecing together the puzzle that he was, connecting it to the Richard Strand she knew.

 

It's interesting to see how they've come together after his death, yet it's also a hell of a guilt trip. He never wanted to hurt any of them, especially not like this. 

 

Charlie leaves the room, mentioning something about getting a drink. Alex continues to rummage through a box. 

 

“Ow- _ fuck _ -!” She yanks her hand out of the box with a muttered curse, holding a shard of glass, blood welling up from a gash in her hand. 

 

She stares at the blood, as if transfixed. It scares him, honestly, for her to just sit there and  _ watch _ the crimson roll across the dip of her palm. 

 

Her grip tightens on the shard of glass, and more blood drips through her fingers. She closes her eyes, bowing her head.

 

_ “No!”   _ Richard shouts, because he has been down the road where pain seemed like the only solution, and nothing good _ ever  _ came from it. He throws all of his energy at the nearest object. 

 

A nightstand topples over, bringing a lamp down with it. The resounding crash is enough to startle Alex and cause her to drop the glass, and for Charlie to come running.

 

“Alex? Are you- _ oh my God what happened to your hand?” _

 

In the confusion that ensues, with Charlie fussing over Alex's injury and calling Ruby to inform her that she's taking Alex to get stitches, no one seems to notice the upended nightstand. 

 

Except for Alex, who casts it a fearful and suspicious stare on her way out the door. 

 

It's the first step, Richard thinks. The first step in actually being able to make some semblance of contact with her. 

  
It's also the first step of Alex heading into dangerous territory, and he intends to be vigilant all the way. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who hates this chapter?
> 
> That's right: me.
> 
> Anyways, comment/kudos, please!


	4. can't tell you what I'm needing

_ “Listen. Listen to me. You’re okay. You’re safe.” _

 

_ He repeats those words over and over again, holding her to him, her hands fisted in his shirt as sobs wrack her body. She’s shaking uncontrollably, the aftereffects of her nightmares showing in her rapid breathing and the tears pouring down her face.  _

 

_ “You’re okay. You’re okay, Alex, you’re safe,” he murmurs, stroking her hair, letting her cry and calm down.  He wishes he could promise it forever, but he can’t and it kills him.  _

 

_ All he can really do now is hold her and give her an anchor, something to grasp in the darkness of insanity that seems to be drawing closer and closer. _

* * *

 

Richard is tired. 

 

Not your average went-bed-at-two-woke-up-at-five-with-no-coffee tired. He's not even alive, so he can't really  _ feel _ tired, not really. 

 

He  _ is _ drained, though, for lack of a better word. 

 

Alex hasn’t tried to hurt herself again, which is definitely good, but she has always been a creature of nervous and restless habit, and having stitches on one’s hand is never good. 

 

He’s tried to nudge her towards things that will keep her distracted, things that will it keep her from picking at the lines marring her palm. 

 

The trick is trying to do so in a way that doesn’t scare her. He pushes her cell phone closer when she’s not looking, to prompt her into contacting a friend. He’ll stir up the dust in the room, making her wrinkle her nose and attempt to clean every once in awhile. He’ll even pester Ghost in the hopes that the cat’s irritated yowling will alert her and give her something else to take care of.

 

It takes quite a lot out of him, to do this day after day, but if it will keep Alex safe, he’s willing to do it. 

 

She’s getting suspicious though, he can tell. Ever since the nightstand incident, as he does all these things, she casts every shadow and unrest he causes with suspicion. 

 

A part of him wants her to figure it out.

 

Another part is terrified that she’ll discover the truth.

 

Even if she did figure out she was being, well, he was reluctant to say haunted, she’d never know it was him and it would only cause her more distress.

 

If she found out it was him...she’d never move on.

 

Then again, perhaps being able to say goodbye would give her some closure, not just to her, but to Charlie and Ruby. 

 

He couldn’t focus on the long run. He had to concentrate on the day-to-day routine and make sure Alex didn’t do anything dumb, which, for such an incredibly smart woman, seemed to be quite difficult. 

 

This being said, the nightstand and glass incident at his father’s house seems to have roused her somehow. She handles any potentially harmful object (e.g. knives, scissors, even a glass vase) with an astounding gentleness, as if she doesn’t want to be tempted with spilling her own blood again. 

 

She’s offered Charlie to let her take in some of the junk from his father’s house, an offer Charlie accepts. Old cardboard boxes and a musty smell fill her apartment now, but she seems to welcome it.

 

Today she stands at the table, taking out a few old artifacts his father has collected. On the table sit an intricately decorated bronze sphere, a few old scrolls, and a stack of books. Alex carefully goes through the box while Ghost pads around the table. 

 

“How much crap did the old bastard have?” she mutters to herself.

 

Richard smiles, knowing she’d be astonished by the answer. 

 

She starts pulling a thick rope from the box, short and coarse. When she pulls up what’s on the end of the rope, a shrunken head dangles from it. He recognizes it as the shrunken head that hung in the window of his father’s office, behind the blinds so the neighbors wouldn’t see (He and Cheryl named it Sherman at some point). Startled, she staggers back with a gasp, her elbow knocking into the bronze sphere, which rolls off the table, the ultimate target being the arch of her foot.

 

Without thinking, he grabs it, trying to spare her a week or two on crutches. She drops the shrunken head with a shriek. Sherman hits the floor with a dull thud as she stumbles back, staring at the bronze sphere floating in what seems like mid-air, a good two feet off the ground. 

 

_ Damn it _ . He drops it, and it crashes to the floor. She stares at the spot where the sphere was hovering. He can see her mind trying to convince herself that she’s tired and seeing things, but there’s still a veneer of unease in her expression. Ghost hisses at him, probably as payback for being such a bother the day before. Alex’s gaze flickers from the cat, then to the spot Ghost is glaring at, hackles raised. 

 

“What the hell?”

* * *

 

“Alex-”

 

“Just hear me out.” 

 

Nic Silver sighs heavily. It’s been awhile since their screaming match, and things are clearly still a little tense. “Let me get this straight: you think there’s a ghost in the apartment.”

 

“Something like that,” she admits.

 

“Well, look at that, there sure is!” Nic says with fake enthusiasm, pointing at a disgruntled Ghost.

 

“So you’re allowed to believe in insane conspiracies but I’m not allowed to believe in ghosts?” Alex snaps, referring to his work on TANIS. Richard had listened to it for a little while, but got bored quickly.

 

Admittedly, he’d only listened to see if Alex appeared, since the Black Tapes hadn’t updated since after he left. Nic Silver had never quite captured his attention the way Alex had. 

 

“Okay, fine,” Nic says, smarting from Alex’s comment, “But an ouija board? Come on, Alex. Where’d you get this, Toys R Us?”

 

“Actually, it was a present from my aunt while we were working on the Black Tapes. She got it for me after episode eight.”

 

“Ah, yes, ‘Board To Death.’ You were quite proud of coming up with that.”

 

“It was a spectacular pun,” Alex defends her wordplay, “And it was a great episode.” 

 

“Whatever. Did you do any research? Did anybody ever die in this apartment?”

 

“...No. Twenty years ago, though, a little boy drowned in the complex pool. A decade later, a couple was murdered on the first floor by the guy’s ex, but I’m on the fourth so I don’t really know if that’s relevant,” Alex rattles off. 

 

“Talk about crazy ex-girlfriend,” Nic chuckles.

 

“First of all, that’s a sexist term. Second, the ex was a guy,” Alex says. 

 

Nic rolls his eyes. “Whatever. Let’s get this _ crappy piece of wood with no supernatural qualities whatsoever _ fired up.”

 

Alex glares at him momentarily before pulling out the instructions, telling Nic to shut up as he laughs.

 

Richard watches, unsure of what he’ll do when they try to make contact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man this chapter sucked 
> 
> Oh well. 
> 
> Please comment/kudos! I'm losing steam for this fic and I need you guys to let me know what you think!


	5. there's truth in the darkness we find

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the lovely comments! Enjoy this chapter!

“I still think this is crazy,” Nic says, staring at the candle Alex lit a few minutes ago.

 

“Humor me, Nic,” Alex says, reading the instructions to the ouija board.

 

“Who would even haunt you?”

 

“Research indicates that just about anybody would. You don't always need a specific relationship to something for it to scare the shit out of you.”

 

“I guess not.”

 

The doorbell rings, and Alex looks like a deer in headlights. “Shit.”

 

“What? Who is it?” Nic asks.

 

“I forgot Ruby and Charlie are coming over today,” she says, rising. “Their freezer broke this morning and I told them they could use mine. I completely forgot- _shit!_ ”

 

“Are we not telling them about our séance?” Nic says.

 

Alex opens the door, unable to respond as she greets Ruby and Charlie whose arms are full of rapidly defrosting frozen goods wrapped in paper bags..

 

“Hey!” She takes a loaded paper bag from each woman, who chime their own greetings.

 

“Thanks so much for letting us use your freezer, Alex,” Charlie says.

 

“Sure thing.”

 

She leads the two women into the kitchen, adjacent to the living room where the ouija board sits on the coffee table.

 

“Oh, hey Nic,” Ruby calls.

 

“Hey Ruby.”

 

“What are you guys doing with a...ouija board?” Charlie asks.

 

“Well, Alex thinks she’s being haunted, so we’re going to try and make contact with the other side.”

 

“Haunted?” Ruby echoes.

 

“Make contact?” Charlie says.

 

“I know, I know, Strand would bust a gut,” Alex says as she pushes a carton of ice cream into her freezer.

 

“Either that or treat you to a two hour lecture,” Ruby adds, shoving in an entire bag.

 

“You mean three,” Charlie corrects with a smile as she lifts two into the freezer with astounding strength..

 

Richard’s quite proud that they can all mention him now without looking overly depressed. The fact they can crack jokes about him is also somewhat reassuring.  

 

“Besides, I don’t know if I’m being _haunted,_ per se, but there’s something weird going on,” Alex continues.

 

“Define weird,” says Ruby.

 

“I never feel like I’m alone. Things move without my touching them. Like I’ll turn around for a second, and when I turn back, my phone is right in front of me when it was just a few feet away. At Strand’s dad’s house, that nightstand just fell over. No one touched it. Oh, and...I saw a giant bronze ball floating today.”

 

“What?” Charlie sputters.

 

“I knocked it off the table, and it just stopped falling. It was just...hovering in mid-air, until it fell.”

 

“Have you been sleeping at all, Alex?” Ruby asks.

 

“I don’t really sleep anymore. I’ll nap if I’m lucky. Besides, I’m not seeing this because I’m tired. Charlie, you saw the nightstand, right?” Alex looks at the other woman, pleading for back up.

 

“Yeah, I saw that it was overturned, but-”

 

“That’s just it! If I didn’t touch it, and you didn’t touch it, then who knocked it over?”

 

“Alex, a ton of stuff in that house is really old. Maybe it just gave out,” Charlie tried.

 

Alex sighed, her shoulders slumping and indicating her defeat as she shuts the freezer door. “You guys don’t have to participate. The websites just said not to do it alone, so I called Nic.”

 

“The websites-?”

 

“Better safe than sorry,” Alex says, shrugging.

 

There’s a moment of silence that seems to burst everyone’s eardrums, because Charlie steps forward. “I’ll do it with you.”

 

“Seriously?” Alex says, taken aback.

 

“Sure, why not?” Charlie says, pausing for a moment before she laughs, “Hey, what do you think my dad would say if we tried to contact him?”

 

If her words weren’t so damn ironic and close to what she was actually about to do, Richard would laugh. It’s not as if she would hear him, anyway.

 

“Probably, ‘this is not scientifically possible,’” Ruby says, pitching her voice low. A small laugh echoes through the room. “I’ll join too.” Ruby walks over to the coffee table, kneeling down, soon followed by Charlie.

 

“So...what do we do?”

 

Alex lightly places her fingertips on the planchette, motioning for the others to follow suit.

 

“There’s some kind of opening prayer we have to do,” Alex says, craning her neck to look at the paper she downloaded off a Wiccan website. She rattles off the prayer.

 

“Now what?” Nic says.

 

“We have to move it in a circle, slowly,” Alex says.”It’s supposed to harness energy or something.”

 

They do as she says, though not without a “This is dumb,” from Nic

 

Richard approaches them, unsure of what to do as he kneels inbetween Charlie and Nic.

 

Eventually, he places his hand on the planchette, giving it an experimental push. It jerks forward.

 

“Whoa. Who did that?” Ruby asks, glancing around at her companions’ confused expressions.

 

“What now?” Charlie asks.

 

“Ask a question, I guess,” Alex says.

 

“This is really awkward,” Nic mutters. Ruby nudges him as a reprimand.

 

“Um...is someone here?” Alex inquires into open air.

 

Richard gently pushes it over to ‘yes,’ the planchette making a loud scraping sound as it drags across the wood.

 

“Did you live here?” she tries again.

 

_No._

 

“Do I know you?”

 

_Yes._

 

“This shit is freaky. No wonder they made a horror movie out of it,” Ruby mutters. Richard rolls his eyes. This is why he had Melissa, and not Ruby, determine the legitimacy of minor cases the Strand Institute received.

 

“What is your name?” Alex asks.

 

The conflict in him flows out in waves of energy, causing the lights to flicker and for Nic to shift uncomfortably. The decision he makes would have him shaking if he was living as he pulls the planchette towards him, to the letter _‘R.’_

 

“‘R,’” Alex reads aloud.

 

Then _I._

_C._

_H._

Alex’s voice shakes.

_A._

_R._

_D._

 

Charlie inhales sharply.

 

“Holy-” Ruby cuts herself off.

 

“R-Richard?” Alex whispers. “Your name is Richard?”

 

_Yes._

 

“Your last name?’ she says weakly.

 

This part’s a bit easier as most of his admittedly metaphorical nerves are far calmer.

 

_S._

_T._

_R._

_A._

_N._

_D._

 

Ruby wrenches herself away from the board. “This isn’t fucking funny,” she snarls at the others. “This isn’t-”

 

“Ruby, none of us are moving it,” Charlie interrupts.

 

Even with the loss of Ruby’s energy, Richard finds himself more vitalized than he has in months. Perhaps if he tries hard enough-

 

He isn’t sure if it’s working or not as he tries to project a physical form of himself.

 

At least not until Charlie screams, scrambling back from the board.

 

He looks up and sees Alex Reagan’s scared and shocked expression. He can hear Nic next to him, muttering, “ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod,” the sound of his voice being farther and farther away until Nic’s pressed himself against the wall behind Alex, leaving her as the sole point of contact.

 

“Alex,” Richard says, and it comes out as a hoarse whisper. He’d say more, but the loss of Charlie and Nic from the energy pool depletes him, and he knows he’s disappeared from sight because Alex cries out, “No!” and springs to her feet.

 

Darkness, much like what greeted him in Olympia, swallows him up, but no one else can see it save for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fear not, this isn't the end!
> 
> I'll do my best to bring you part 3 ASAP!
> 
> Comment/kudos, please!
> 
> (Also i know i butchered the using of an ouija board i apologize)


End file.
